In My Rebel Eyes
by Tobias Morrisimus
Summary: When the Italian mafia has to make an escape, Germany seems the best option. Forced to become Nazi's, they ally strange group of people- a Jew pretending to be a Nazi, a MI5 spy, and French Rebels.Too bad none of them can know they are Mafia OR Nazis! WW2
1. Goon's Escape

"You did WHAT!" Cried the medium-short young man. His dark auburn locks swished as he moved around, his hands a blur as he yelled.

"Romano, calm down, it was only a few thousand dollars extra," the white haired man across from him casually spoke, "sheesh."

"THAT'S THE FUCKING POINT! YOUR GOAL WAS 2 MILLION!"

Romano's Attolini suit was drenched as the three men stood in the cold Sicilian rain.

Slamming himself upon the brash man, Antonio Hernandez-Carriedo pressed his hand over his boss's mouth. "Are you _trying_ to get us caught?" His velvety Spanish accent was heavily threaded trough his fluent Italian.

The mob boss slowly released his anger, and the bodyguard placed the 24-year-old mob boss down, his stylish Gucci shoes tapping onto the cobblestone road.

"Discussing this on the streets of Sicily is not the best idea." He agreed; "If we had an alterior base like Grandpa advised me, we would already be there. And 'why?' may you ask we are not in our _original _base? Because _SOMEONE _lead the police RIGHT TO IT!" He slowly his gaze moved the third man with them in the alley, his red eyes glistening with mischief.

The albino's trademark laugh rang through the passage as he threw back his head. "Kesesesese!... Bye!"

And then he ran.

Growling, Romano Vargas, head of _Credo__di Snake,_ the most notorious mafia in Italy, pointed at the running albino. "You know the drill." He barked, head whipping to Antonio.

The other man turned to him, face confused. "I was wondering about that," he said, "I always leave you alone; I'm not supposed to do that." A new rage came on, and Romano rose is fist in the air, then punched his bodyguard in the abs, nudging him slightly.

"I'll just come with you then."

"Really?"

'_He's so stupid.' _Thought Romano; sighing, he took a deep breath then screamed, "IT DOESN'T MATTER, IDIOTA! WE'RE LOSING HIM!"

So they both ran, feet pounding on the cobblestone as they pursued their hit-man, on the run from them once again. The mud from the rain washed up on their clothes,"_Merda_," Romano grumbled under his breath as he tried to keep up with his workers. "My suits all ruined. I'll need to get another."

Antonio huffed from far in front of him. "I see him! GIL! COME BACK!"

A loud scream was heard from ahead of Romano, followed by a German curse. "GILBERT! NO GERMAN!" He called, "YOU REMEMBER WHAT'S GOING ON IN GERMANY! WE CAN'T HAVE PEOPLE THINKING YOU'RE A _NAZITA!" _The last word rang through the passage and Romano whispered a small prayer that no one was around to hear him.

"I WOUNT LET THEM TAKE YOU, GIL!" Antonio cried, "NOT MY BEST FRIEND!"

Another slithery chuckle echoed down the stretch of street and soon two sets of pattering feet stopped. Romano wheezed as he finally caught up with his closest aides as they stood with one arm over the other, their backs leaned over so their other hands could touch their knees.

They both grinned like clowns.

"Alright,_ perdenti_. Let's get back." Huffed Antonio.

"No." Spoke the Italian in front of them.

"What?" Both goons gasped.

"You heard me, _fottuto bastardo. _You're not allowed back. Consider yourself lucky, Gilbert Beilschmidt, for you have been liberated from _Credo__di Snake_ forever without having to _cazzo morire. _Get up, Antonio. We're leaving."

Standing up straight, Romano Vargas, known as _Scheletro del Consiglio_ on the streets of Italy, adjusted his white fedora and brushed off what little dirt managed to reach his jacket. His tongue clicked as he looked down at his suit pants. _"Il fango no uscira mai dei miei pantaloni Dannazione." _He mumbled.

'_D*mn-d*mn-d*mn. My pants are ruined. I hate mud.' _Romano thought.

Turning on his expensive heal, he headed back down their path his closest friends ran down, leaving them staring at his disappearing form. "ROMANO!" Antonio called, chasing after his boss. "Wait! You're not thinking properly."

"NOT THINKING! YOU THINK I'M NOT THINKING!" His hazel eyes dashed over to the heartbroken 20-year-old on the ground, eyes wide with disbelief. "I'VE BEEN _THINKING_ ABOUT THIS FOR _YEARS!" _He lied, turning his back to his friends to hide his misting eyes.

_Dio, _what would he tell Feliciano.

**Translations:**

_(italian) Credo__di Snake: Snake's Creed [__**GUESS WHO WANTED TO PLAY A CERTAIN VIDEO GAME]**_

_(spanish)Perdenti_: Joker

_(it)Idiota: _idiot

_(it)Nazita: _Nazi

(it)"_Il fango no uscira mai dei miei pantaloni Dannazione." _The mud will never get out of my pants, D*mn.

_(it) cazzo morire: ef-ing die_

_(it) Scheletro del Consiglio: Skeleton's Council_

**_AND THAT's PART 1! _**

**_A friend and I have been procrastinating this fanfiction for months. :)_**

**_I OWN NOTHING._**

**_Please tell me what you like, if I missed any spelling/grammar mistakes. Seriously. _**

**_Tell me._**

**_読書をありがとうございました！_**


	2. Mafia Losses

"B-but…" Feliciano Vargas looked like he was on the verge of tears. His bottom lip quivered as he stared at his angry _fratello._ The adorable, carefree, idiot version of his brother, it was anyone's guess as to why Feli had ever agreed to follow him to the top ranks of the mafia. Violence wasn't exactly the poor guy's forte; he practically surrendered at the very word 'fight'.

"The _bastardi_ ruined our plans! He had our base captured!' Romano paced about his twin brothers room. Whirling about on his heel, he turned to Antonio, face bright red. "And Antonio, get your damn turtles out of my house!"

The Spaniard sighed, using his closed index finger to tilt the Italian's head, his height always making Romano embarrassed. "Lovi," He said, using his real name for once, instead of his code name, Romano, which was the only code name the group used, "You're red as a _tomatito._ Calm down, _amigo._ We'll find a way to launder the money."

The red-faced man stormed out of the room, cursing loudly. He threw one of his crystal glasses back inside the room as his eyes burned holes in the floor. It scattered, and the maid hurried to sweep it up. Romano swore, murmuring about how he liked that glass. Then he walked down the hall, head in his hands. Antonio turned to the remaining sniffling Vargas, concern in his eyes.

"Are you okay, _amigo__?"_ He tilted up Feliciano's chin to face him. "Romano doesn't mean to hurt you. He just got mad." You had to treat Feliciano like a child. He never paid any attention unless you caught his eye.

Feli nodded, wiping his red and blurry eyes dry with a weak smile. "I… I just need to call a friend."

,_, ,_, ,_,

/)_) /)_) /)_)  
-"-"- -"-"- -"-"-

It just so happened that Francis Bonnefoy was having a hell of a day.

First of all, the mafia scandal was the biggest news in little Sicily. Rumors were being spread that Francis was involved.

Truth was he wasn't involved. It also was the first time.

Picking up his phone, Francis smiled, his French accent pierced through his fluent Italian. "_Ciao,_ this is Francis. Who is speaking?"

"_Ciao,_ Big Brother!" Feliciano's voice echoed into the phone. He sounded quite cheerful, but then he sniffled. Feli's feelings were wide open. "Big Brother Francis, my friend is missing."

There was a knock on Francis's door. It took him about two seconds to piece together the situation.

"One minute, Feliciano. What does your friend look like?" The stranger in the door frowned, turning to run, as Francis spoke. He was caught by the shirt collar, and held in the air, feet dangling off the front steps.

"He's scary, with big red eyes like_ il demonio_, and white hair, and—" The Italian boy's shaky words were cut off by Francis.

Wrapping the albino into a much surprised a hug, he whispered, "Your friend is quite pretty, Feli. We'll be over soon." The phone hit the receiver, and Francis grinned.

"Mr. Bonnefoy, I do not think it's a good idea to go back there…" Gilbert murmured, still encircled by the Frenchman's arms.

Francis Bonnefoy grinned. "Call me Francis. Oh, I think it's a very good idea. Romano will be quite pleased to have his minion back."

The albino sighed into the Frenchman's chest, muttering something in German under his breath.

,_, ,_, ,_,

/)_) /)_) /)_)  
-"-"- -"-"- -"-"-

"Big brother?" Feliciano frowned, shaking the phone.

"What?" Romano called, from the kitchen. "I'm busy, _fratello._ Go away." He frowned, unflattering worry lines creasing his smooth face.

"Not you, Lovino! Silly, I was talking to Francy!" Feliciano giggled, childlike forevermore.

Feli's twin _'hah-rumphed'_ into a chair. "Who the hell is that?"

"A Frenchman- Big Brother Francis! He works at a laundry place or something." The callow boy skipped away from the phone off the receiver, lying on the window. The maid skittered to click it into the unit. Tutting his tongue, he muttered something in Polish about his Master's bad manners. Antonio cast a glare his way.

They had only hired the Polish boy because he knew the Mafia secret. If he had a job at stake, why would he give their secret away? Feli liked the maid to wear girls' clothes, as Feli himself was mistaken for a girl growing up; thus, Romano disapproved. The maid wandered off in his dress to wash the bloodstains from his master's other clothing, completely fine with his uniform.

"What the hell have you been talking to a _Francise_ for?" Romano cursed under his breath. "Idiot, what have you told him?"

"No worries,_ fratello,_ only personal stuff. The violence in_ mia casa_ is not nice!" Feliciano frowned, saddened by the thought of such harmful acts again.

"Gilbert was the problem, Feli! Get over him!" The brunette yelled, obviously stressed. His eyes widened, and he reached to comfort his brother. "Killing everyone in his path with such a cocky grin on his face;" "_Si cazzo che mi infastidisce cosí tanto.' _He thought. '_That smirk, it's so annoying.'_

He received a slap to his cheek; the first violent thing Feliciano had ever done in his life. Staring at his hand, Feli broke into tears. "I miss Gillie!"

Antonio rushed over to hold him, shushing his cries. "I miss him too." But Romano just bit his lip, staring at the ground. As the door was knocked upon, the maid walked to get it.

Gilbert was thrown in head first, crashing into the carpet. Francis stood above him, a smirk on his face.

"_Bonjour."_

Romano glared at the white head that lay at his feet. Gilbert rubbed his face, and looked up to see the angriest person in the world staring down at him. He closed his eyes again, and then opened. Blink. Blink. Romano stood. Wielding a gun.

All Gilbert could think was, "Oh, shit."

,_, ,_, ,_,

/)_) /)_) /)_)  
-"-"- -"-"- -"-"-

Gilbert Beilschmidt stared into the barrel of Romano's .22-caliber pistol.

Everyone else in the room mimicked him; their thoughts the same.

Romano's index finger twitched, a fracas of action erupted in the room.

The albino applied pressure to his hands as he sat on his bum, upper limbs behind him, flipping himself backwards in a handstand. _'Ich bin mir Ehrfurcht!__' _He thought tauntingly, '_Awesome me!'_

_**Translations: **_

_Italian- il demonio = a demon_

_Italian- Si cazzo che mi infastidisce cosí tanto = It fucking bothers me so much. _

_German, __'Ich bin mir Ehrfurcht!_' _[__I am the image of pure awe!]_


End file.
